pathetic epistle has been sent to me by a woman,
who explains in it her particular perplexity. Such letters are the
windfalls of our profession! For what is more attractive than to have a
woman take you for her lay confessor, to whom she comes for advice in
trouble? opening her innocent heart for your inspection!

My correspondent complains that her days are not sufficiently long, nor
is her strength great enough, for the thousand and one duties and
obligations imposed upon her. "If," she says, "a woman has friends and a
small place in the world--and who has not in these days?--she must golf
or 'bike' or skate a bit, of a morning; then she is apt to lunch out, or
have a friend or two in, to that meal. After luncheon there is sure to
be a 'class' of some kind that she has foolishly joined, or a charity
meeting, matinee, or reception; but above all, there are her 'duty'
calls. She must be home at five to make tea, that she has promised her
men friends, and they will not leave until it is time for her to dress
for dinner, 'out' or at home, with often the opera, a supper, or a ball
to follow. It is quite impossible," she adds, "under these circumstances
to apply one's self to anything serious, to read a book or even open a
periodical. The most one can accomplish is a glance at a paper."

Indeed, it would require an exceptional constitution to carry out the
above programme, not to mention the attention that a woman must (however
reluctantly) give to her house and her family. Where are the quiet hours
to be found for self-culture, the perusal of a favorite author, or,
perhaps, a little timid "writing" on her own account? Nor does this
treadmill round fill a few months only of her life. With slight
variations of scene and costume, it continues through the year.

A painter, I know, was fortunate enough to receive, a year or two ago,
the commission to paint a well-known beauty. He was delighted with the
idea and convinced that he could make her portrait the best work of his
life, one that would be the stepping-stone to fame and fortune. This was
in the spring. He was naturally burning to begin at once, but found to
his dismay that the lady was just about starting for Europe. So he
waited, and at her suggestion installed himself a couple of months later
at the seaside city where she had a cottage. No one could be more
charming than she was, inviting him to dine and drive daily, but when he
broached the subject of